Darkborn Part 3

So, his encounter with Lady Telmaine had already come to Vladimer's attention. The man was uncanny. He would worry more for Lady Telmaine's sake-if his suspicion that the lady was a mage were correct and not merely the self-delusion of a lonely man-since Vladimer well knew why Ish wore gloves in social gatherings, had Vladimer not been a man who discounted women. As much regard as he had for the archduke's spymaster, Ish very much wanted to be there when some lady of intelligence and character taught Vladimer his error.

"You should dance with her," Vladimer suggested. "Since her husband is not here, I give you my permission, as her male cousin. It might encourage some of the matrons with eligible daughters to come sniffing about. a.s.suming you do not have some baronial blossom already in mind."

Ish did not know whether to be unnerved or pleased. Vladimer- childless as he himself was-had taken to making pointed comments on Ish's need to marry and ensure his own line rather than leaving the barony to his younger brother. But Lady Telmaine was already married, and Ish knew of no reason why Vladimer should intend mischief toward her, her husband, or, for that matter, Ish himself. Perhaps it was not merely the spiced cologne that was making his head ache.

"I take't," he said bluntly, "you've not summoned me t'Minhorne just to show how well I walk on my hind legs?"

Vladimer's face showed brief amus.e.m.e.nt. "No, Shadowhunter," he said quietly. "It was to hear your impression of this last summer in the Borders."

There was that t.i.tle again. It made Ish uneasy, as it had been several years since he had ceased, by his reckoning, to be a Shadowhunter. It was work that had a natural term, and he had been lucky to survive that term. "Quiet," he answered the implied question. "Some herd animals slaughtered, but no people killed outright. Seven people gone, though. All said t'have acted strangely beforehand."

He left unstated his conclusion: that they had been afflicted by the Call to the Shadowlands. Vladimer, to his relief, did not ask him for details.

"And as far as you know, has there ever been a year so quiet?"

"No," Ish said.

If there were another one, he allowed privately, he would go quite mad. He had spent half the summer pacing the halls of his manor house, expecting at any hour a desperate messenger on a blown horse. The other half he had spent on the road. Between visits to his neighbors to review and advise on their preparations, and the long patrols of the villages of his own lands, he must have dragged his guard troop half the length of the entire borders, expecting disaster around every bend. His men had enjoyed their heroes' welcome and the hospitality of villagers in the midst of a fruitful and tranquil summer. He himself had enjoyed the company of a manservant with orders to subdue him by force if he took one step closer to the Shadowlands than he must. If Vladimer thought he seemed less gaunt and witchy now, he must have been in a pitiful state before.

But then, a few years ago he would have taken manacles and chains with him on the hill patrols, so loud was the Call of the Shadowlands on him.

"Ishmael," said Vladimer, sounding dryly amused, "any other one of my brother's lords or barons would have been trumpeting their achievement in pacifying the Shadowlands."

"They'd be wrong," Ish said flatly. For eight hundred years the Shadowborn had raided the Borders and, at times of great unrest, beyond, and nothing that the Darkborn had done had contained them within their own lands. Shadowborn spilled over the borders, hunted, killed, and were killed.

Vladimer smiled thinly. "My sentiment exactly, though do not discount your work in building the Borders' defenses and warning systems. They've not been this strong for two centuries, and I'm glad of it. As the expert on the Shadowborn, why do you think it has been so quiet?"

"Been wondering that myself. Wondering if the Lightborn had done anything."

"You would have sensed anything magical, would you not?"

"My lord," Ish said uncomfortably, "m'magic's nothing, set against some of the Lightborn." Once Vladimer had been convinced that Ishmael would not trespa.s.s on his thoughts, his wily mind had immediately turned to the usefulness of having a loyal mage. Some of those uses made Ishmael uneasy in his conscience; others were frankly dangerous. "I cannot say what I would or would not have sensed. I did send a message to a Lightborn mage I know; he said that they'd done nothing to touch the Shadowlands or the Shadowborn. Lightborn don't talk about Shadowborn."

"One day," Vladimer mused, "I will know why why the Lightborn abandoned the Borders." He waved a long hand. "So they'll be no help. What else?" the Lightborn abandoned the Borders." He waved a long hand. "So they'll be no help. What else?"

"The Shadowborn need t'eat and drink; that we know." He need not spell out what, or how they knew; Vladimer had all reports of Shadowborn incursions delivered to him, and had copies of all the scientific and speculative literature, even the sensationalist broadsheets. Very few of the aristocracy outside the Borders showed any interest in the danger that the Shadowborn posed, but Vladimer, for whatever reason, did. Perhaps, Ish thought, because the archduke's spymaster was, in his detached, intellectual way, the most paranoid individual he'd ever met. Vladimer detested mysteries, and the Shadowborn were a mystery. "Much of the Shadowlands west of the mountains is desert. Some years, even if we dared try t'live off the land, we would not be able to: the heat, the scrub, the lack of water. This was a good year for the hill farms, and the scouts who went into the Shadowlands said that 'twas unusually lush. Perhaps this year the Shadowborn had enough t'eat."

"And on other good years," Vladimer said inexorably, "have they been quiet?"

"No," Ish said reluctantly. "Th'best years for the hill villages are the worst years for Shadowborn."

"Ah. So, this year is different. What else, Shadowhunter?"

Ish's unease intensified-that t.i.tle again. "We don't know how Shadowborn breed. Never killed a young one, or one in pup, or egg-heavy. If the breeding failed, that might be it."

Vladimer's fingers drummed lightly on his chair arm. "Still all speculation."

"A dozen scouting parties went into the Shadowlands," Ish said. "One went over two hundred miles inland. They were hara.s.sed by the little brutes, but not attacked. It is quiet inside the Shadowlands, as well as outside."

"Two hundred miles in," Vladimer said, "whereas we know the Shadowlands are eight, nine hundred miles wide at their fullest north-south extent. And no one dares eat and drink in the Shadowlands, yet the food and water are not exactly poisonous to us, are they, Ishmael, particularly if one has magic to tell if they can support life or not?"

"It is possible t'eat and live, yes, if it's that or die," Ish said, very still. "But I've a thought that drinking the water and eating from the land brings on the Call."

"You have eaten and drunk within the Shadowlands."

"Yes."

"And returned alive and sane, though afflicted by that same Call. Which you have so far been able to resist."

"My lord," said Ishmael softly, "please do not ask me t'do this."

There was a silence. "I have not yet asked you to do anything. But your instinct is, as ever, right. An old fisherman once told me about this phenomenon, a great wave that sometimes follows an earthquake. Just before the waters begin to rise, they gather offsh.o.r.e, and the sign of their gathering is that they flow back, back from sh.o.r.e. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

Ish believed he did, and hoped he did not.

After a moment waiting for an acknowledgment that would not come, Vladimer continued, "The Shadowborn have raided the Borders ever since the Curse was laid, sometimes with great slaughter, but always as single beasts or as small hunting packs. They have never shown any sign of other than instinctual behavior, never any sign of cooperation amongst breeds, and never any sign that they would not prey on one another, given the opportunity. And there is nothing to indicate that this is the way it might not always be."

He pushed himself to his feet, leaning upon armrest and cane, and limped around to the game board. Carved stone squares clicked as he turned them. From where he sat, Ish thought he was recapitulating the pattern that he had shown Ish earlier, when the turn of one square spread a tide of change across the board. "And still I am uneasy. Still I ask myself-and would like to put to you-what would happen if a breed of Shadowborn arose that could dominate all the breeds of Shadowborn? What do you suppose would happen if a breed of Shadowborn arose that had the intelligence, cunning, and ambition of men?"

That was a nightmare that, even in his most hopeless hours, Ish had never had visit him. It was one of those moments when he was grateful not to live in Vladimer's head.

"Envision an army, Ishmael, made up of scavvern and glazen and led by . . . one like our own Ferdenzil Mycene, perhaps. Envision that sweeping down from the high pa.s.ses into the Borders. And then then say, 'Do not ask me to do this.' " say, 'Do not ask me to do this.' "

He heard the soft thump of Vladimer's cane as the archduke's spymaster moved to sit down opposite Ishmael.

"I know what I am asking of you," he said, almost gently, "and I also know that if you were any other man you would think me quite mad to be more concerned about this than the intrigues of Mycene in the Scallon Isles, or half a dozen other schemes by prodigiously capable men of high and low birth. But you have spent your entire adult life hunting these creatures and training others to hunt them. If If the reason they are not raiding is not because they have enough to eat, and is not because there are too few of them, but is because something or the reason they are not raiding is not because they have enough to eat, and is not because there are too few of them, but is because something or someone someone within the Shadowlands is gathering them up, then I within the Shadowlands is gathering them up, then I must know must know. And there isn't a scout or Shadowhunter who knows those lands better than you do, and is a mage besides."

"No living living Scout or Shadowhunter," Ish said harshly. "It is not," he continued in a lower voice, "that I do not know the need, my Lord. I do. But t'go across the Border-I can do enough to keep me on this side, but I know of no way I could scout the heart of the Shadowlands and not lose myself." Scout or Shadowhunter," Ish said harshly. "It is not," he continued in a lower voice, "that I do not know the need, my Lord. I do. But t'go across the Border-I can do enough to keep me on this side, but I know of no way I could scout the heart of the Shadowlands and not lose myself."

Vladimer nodded acknowledgment, but continued his own argument. "Even if nothing is happening, even if this is a natural fluctuation in population-a.s.suming that anything to do with the Shadowborn can be called natural-I want a way to know what is happening inside the Shadowlands. I want you to find me that way. For ten years, I have relied upon your experience in dealing with this particular grave threat. I am relying on you once more. So, if you are willing, I would like to try an experiment, attempt a different solution."

Ish gave a tight smile. "As long as it leaves me in no worse case than I am now. Though I suppose if I failed and followed the Call, I would would answer your question, though you'd never be knowing the answer." answer your question, though you'd never be knowing the answer."

"I do not use my agents that way," Vladimer said, in mild reproach. "The idea I have had is this: The husband of the lovely Telmaine-the one she wed to the consternation of all her relations-is a physician with a professional interest in disorders of the mind, particularly disorders of self-control: addictions, compulsions, Lightsickness. He has lately come to my attention through one of his successes: Guillaume di Maurier." The young man was one of Minhorne's more notorious rakeh.e.l.ls-and a valued window into Minhorne's underworld for the spymaster. "Furthermore, Hearne's sister is a known mage and he maintains a warm relationship with her-to the scandal of his in-laws, I might add. There are more eminent and experienced physicians, but those facts incline me to think there might be none more able to help you. I instruct you to consult him, to lay your experience out before him. I will not send you to certain failure and death"-Ish noted the order of exclusions-"but I need need that intelligence. I do not like this silence." that intelligence. I do not like this silence."

"I understand," Ish said heavily.

"I thought you might," Vladimer said, unsmiling. "As I have discovered to my own cost, your reward for service is to serve again. So I suggest you go and dance with my pretty cousin, and make your arrangement to meet her husband. I want those answers, Ishmael, but I'd prefer you come back safe with them."

Telmaine After several dances, Telmaine pleaded fatigue and joined Sylvide in a place just inside the archway to the main ballroom, adjacent to a little alcove that was a favored-if obvious-hiding place during children's games, as well as one of the entrances to Lord Vladimer's private study.

"Do tell me why my reputation is in danger from dancing with Baron Strumh.e.l.ler?" she said lightly, judging the question within the bounds of a lady's interest. Sylvide's family's lands were far south of the city, with only the Strumh.e.l.ler barony between them and the Shadowlands. "I've heard about him, but n.o.body said anything about his being a great seducer, not like Lord"-and she leaned close to murmur the name into Sylvide's ear.

But Sylvide did not squeak with scandalized glee. "Tellie, this is serious. Baron Strumh.e.l.ler's a pract.i.tioner pract.i.tioner. There's no telling what he could do if he wanted wanted a woman." a woman."

Pract.i.tioner being the current euphemism for mage. Telmaine's gloved hands worked on her fan. She wanted to know more about Ishmael di Studier, but she did not want to hear more about what Sylvide thought mages might or might not do. It was a topic she had learned to avoid. being the current euphemism for mage. Telmaine's gloved hands worked on her fan. She wanted to know more about Ishmael di Studier, but she did not want to hear more about what Sylvide thought mages might or might not do. It was a topic she had learned to avoid.

Sylvide whispered, "His father threw him out and disowned disowned him because he actually wanted to him because he actually wanted to study study magic. He took to Shadowhunting because it was the only way he could live. He came back years later, when there was a glazen marauding in the Borders. People say he blackmailed his father into reinstating him, before he'd help them kill it. He's been into the Shadowlands dozens of times." magic. He took to Shadowhunting because it was the only way he could live. He came back years later, when there was a glazen marauding in the Borders. People say he blackmailed his father into reinstating him, before he'd help them kill it. He's been into the Shadowlands dozens of times."

"I thought people who went into the Shadowlands too often either went mad or didn't come back at all."

"My brother knows someone who's ridden the hill patrols with him. He has himself chained to his bed at night, so he can't rise in his sleep and follow the Call from the Shadowlands."

Telmaine shied. The conversation had taken a disturbing turn. She sonned quickly about her and was relieved to discover that no one seemed to be taking any particular interest in it.

Sylvide clutched at her arm, her expression anxious. "Now I've shocked you."

Telmaine drew a deep breath of the close, overperfumed air. "I've heard all about obsessions and compulsions from Bal. It makes me uncomfortable to hear about them, but that's because . . . well, he tells me it's because I empathize with people who cannot remain in control. Which I think makes me sound better than I am because . . . it is rather horrible, isn't it?"

"It is is horrible. Men and women disappearing, and then the horrible. Men and women disappearing, and then the things things that come out of the Shadowlands. I don't know why we don't just leave the Borders, the way the Lightborn did." that come out of the Shadowlands. I don't know why we don't just leave the Borders, the way the Lightborn did."

The deep voice behind them said softly, "And you'd be leaving your family's lands so easily, Lady Sylvide, that you would tell others t'do so?"

Sylvide gave a little shriek that was half sonn that outlined the broad figure of the baron as he emerged from Lord Vladimer's private door. "And before you chide me once more about manners, Lady Telmaine," the baron said, "I believe th'dishonors are about even."

He started to move past them, and she realized that, gruff composure in his voice notwithstanding, he was greatly shaken. Moved by an impulse of curiosity and compa.s.sion, she laid gloved fingers to his sleeve and found that he was actually trembling. What would frighten a man with a reputation for courage acknowledged even by his enemies? "Are you all right, Baron Strumh.e.l.ler?"

His sonn washed over her revealingly. Telmaine said, firmly, "You must must mute your sonn, sir! You're not in the Borders now. Someone will call you out for it, which you would richly deserve, but then you would probably kill them, which would be grossly unfair." She rapped his forearm lightly with her fan. "Come. You promised me a dance." mute your sonn, sir! You're not in the Borders now. Someone will call you out for it, which you would richly deserve, but then you would probably kill them, which would be grossly unfair." She rapped his forearm lightly with her fan. "Come. You promised me a dance."

"Tellie!" Sylvide hissed.

She flipped her fan toward Sylvide and tucked the baron's hand firmly into the crook of her arm, turning them toward the dance floor. She was aware of waves of sonn spreading over her, of whispers moving outward.

"Why are you doing this?" the baron said in a voice pitched just low enough for her to hear. She noticed he moved with a.s.surance, even without casting. She was impressed. Her brothers, as mad-for-hunting adolescents, had practiced the skill, with much crashing into lintels and falling over ornamental tables.

"I have a soft heart." Which was true enough. Like it or not, she was aware of the pain of those excluded from society. Where she could without insulting them further or endangering her own secret, she tried to ease their struggles, using her own high position and many connections to introduce them to suitors, friends, and patrons. Of course, the usual people she reached out to were girls handicapped by an absent or embarra.s.sing family, or awkward, gifted young men from the provinces. Not a man a decade her senior, with lands more extensive than her own family's, and a formidable reputation besides.

Still, what was done was done, and need never be repeated.

She yielded to his lead, at first tucking her toes back warily, but he moved lightly and turned her deftly, dancing in a formal style that was at least fifteen years outdated. She concentrated on relaxing, so that he would relax in turn. He was taking her injunction against sonn quite literally, and she realized that as well as other people's sonn, he was using the small shifts in her own body language to steer by. As to the sniffing, it seemed he had not intended to insult her beside the automaton; he must be used to interpreting his surroundings by smell as well as sound and sonn. He was indeed like a wild creature.

When the music ended and he turned as though to leave, she caught his arm. "Do stay, please," she said. "You have no idea what a pleasure it is to dance with a man I can trust not to tread on my feet."

Her sonn caught an expression of wary amus.e.m.e.nt on his face. "M'father ensured I had all the proper accomplishments," he said.

The music began once more. She waited, not responding to something that was surely a lure inviting her to flinch, or to pry. After four bars, aware they were becoming conspicuous, she took a half step closer, and he took hold of her and began to lead.

Dancing, she had become aware of a trace of Vladimer's distinctive cologne. "You were talking to Lord Vladimer just now, weren't you?"

He tensed, but did not break step. She turned her body slightly, and he steered her away from her sister-in-law, who was casting pointedly in their direction. She said, "I recognize that cologne. I found my way into his study back there when I was a little girl, playing hide-and-seek with my ducal cousins. He terrified me out of a year's growth when he caught me, though now that I think about it, he was but twenty-one years old then."

Her skirts swung across a fellow dancer's legs, reminding her that she could not concentrate only on him, as she wanted to. He felt her twitch, and played a burst of sonn over their surroundings that would not have penetrated gauze.

"What did he do to upset you?" she said.

His sonn brushed her face, which showed, she hoped, an expression of ladylike concern. "My lady," he said, "don't you think that an intrusive question?"

"Yes," she said. "But Vladimer is my cousin. I respect him, and I know how important he is to the archduke and to the state. But if you do not know him well, he has peculiar humors, and I would not like you to take them ill."

He relaxed slightly. "I've known Lord Vladimer-and his humors-for years. If you'd be rea.s.sured by it, he he told me t'dance with you. Thought it might help my marriage prospects if I showed myself tame." told me t'dance with you. Thought it might help my marriage prospects if I showed myself tame."

"Gracious me! With all due respect to my cousin, I am not sure I would take any advice he he offers on the subject of matrimony. He's expert in withering hopeful buds. He doesn't trust women, which isn't surprising. His mother was notorious." offers on the subject of matrimony. He's expert in withering hopeful buds. He doesn't trust women, which isn't surprising. His mother was notorious."

"My lady," he said, after a moment, "if you hope t'show me the bounds of polite conversation, you have me more confused than ever."

Telmaine flushed. "You're correct, sir. It is my turn to beg your pardon."

"I think," he said, steering her in another turn, "we should not keep tally. We seem t'bring out the worst in each other. But as for Vladimer, I had not thought of it in quite that way, but that may well be the way of it."

She drew breath to ask about the baron's own mother, who was so far absent from his conversation, but realized it might be a question he did not want to answer.

"I'm supposed t'present myself t'your husband. By Lord Vladimer's orders."

He might have spoken lightly, but the renewed tension in him told her otherwise. She could not but grow apprehensive; the attenuated tie of blood, as well as her insignificant womanhood, might grant her some immunity from Vladimer's machinations, but her husband was not similarly protected. She could not keep the tension from her own voice. "Why has Vladimer ordered you to meet Bal?"

The music ended with a prolonged rallentando. This time, the baron offered her no chance to linger, but steered her firmly toward the side of the dance floor, and, under cover of the stir of dancers bustling off and onto the floor, said, "He thinks your husband might be able t'help me with that affliction your friend spoke of." He stepped back, bowed decisively to her, and withdrew into the echoes. She fanned herself briskly, indicating to all that she was not interested in observing his departing back. How would would the Shadowhunter react to Balthasar, gentle, scholarly, and inexorable when he thought there was need? Thinking of her husband made her feel obscurely guilty. Foolish, since she had danced with the baron but twice, publicly sanctioned. She closed her fan and smoothed her sleeves and gloves and waist, removing all impressions of his fingers. That done, she maneuvered around the perimeter of the dance floor, murmuring greetings to the people who greeted her-whether slightly frostily or curiously, but too well-bred to question her-or in friendship. the Shadowhunter react to Balthasar, gentle, scholarly, and inexorable when he thought there was need? Thinking of her husband made her feel obscurely guilty. Foolish, since she had danced with the baron but twice, publicly sanctioned. She closed her fan and smoothed her sleeves and gloves and waist, removing all impressions of his fingers. That done, she maneuvered around the perimeter of the dance floor, murmuring greetings to the people who greeted her-whether slightly frostily or curiously, but too well-bred to question her-or in friendship.

An elderly dowager, sitting amidst a small court of her relatives, accosted her. "So you got young Ishmael di Studier dancing, did you?"

Xephilia was the elder sister of the archduke's mother. Their rivalry for the late archduke's hand and heart, in which they had used every wile and abandoned every scruple known to woman, was a forty-year-old scandal. Telmaine suspected it had been immensely entertaining to the spectators.

"Sit down by me, Telmaine." Xephilia shooed away the grand-daughter seated beside her. Telmaine slid into the chair with a mixture of obedience and curiosity.

"Old-fashioned style, but he still dances well, doesn't he?"

"My toes know it," Telmaine said demurely.

"Mm." Xephilia leaned closer. Society of forty years ago had considered her the beauty, not her sister. "You do know why he wears those gloves, don't you?"

"I a.s.sumed that they were the fashion down in the Borders," Telmaine said airily. "Either that or he's got clammy hands."

There was little of an old woman's wavering in Lady Xephilia's sonn. "You aren't that naive, girl. He wears those gloves because he can read thoughts with a touch. You'd be well-advised to remember that when you're dancing with him. And you might be advised to leave your own pretty arms bare, as long as he's around to remind people of things they'd rather not think about."

Telmaine's mouth was suddenly as dry as the Shadowlands. She managed not to clutch at her fan or her arms. "It's . . . because of my phobia," she said. "Without the gloves I'd not be able to enjoy-"

"Oh, don't fret about it, girl. We know you. It would be best if you could, that is all; you should get your husband to pay some attention to you, professionally as well as as a woman. And as to di Studier, the man couldn't help being born the way he was; I'll grant that. But he should have let matters be over the barony. How he imagines he might continue the line, I don't know. What girl would marry him?"

"It isn't inherited," she said. And if the G.o.ds heard no other prayer of hers, let them hear that one.

"Not if we don't let it be," Lady Xephilia said crisply. "Ishmael di Studier shouldn't wed. The barony should pa.s.s to his brother, as it was meant to. It will in time. Di Studier won't be able to resist the Call indefinitely, living in the Borders."

The callousness shocked her enough to make her forget her own personal danger. "You'd approve a man going to a horrible death, just because he's a mage?"

"There's no 'just' about it," the old woman said sternly. "Mages are as dangerous as Shadowborn. So don't you go making him one of your projects, girl."

In the main hall, three light-timbred bells began to peal, sweetly penetrating. It was the warning for those guests who did not wish to stay throughout the day that the last safe hour of night was approaching. In the height of summer most of the guests did stay, night being far too brief for proper revelry. Now that summer was sliding into autumn and the nights were lengthening, some would choose to leave, and others would seize the chance to take in the air and scents of the garden while they could. Telmaine rose-not, she trusted, too hastily-and excused herself, saying that she must go and catch a breath of air before the sun rose. The folds of her dress hid her clenched hands. Poisonous, dangerous old woman! Poisonous, dangerous old woman!